


so fucking juvenile

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Bad Sex, Bisexual Daisy Johnson, Bisexual Phil Coulson, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Happy Go Cousy, Hotel Sex, Intimacy, Oral Sex, Romance, Sex Is Fun, Sex Talk, happiness, not canon specific, obscure references to buzzcocks songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 19:31:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15031682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Daisy and Coulson try a new position.Written for the Happy-Go-Cousy challenge at johnsonandcoulson.com





	so fucking juvenile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts), [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts), [Persiflage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/gifts).



He likes her the best like this, looking _content_. And sure, it’s easy to look content after an orgasm but it’s more than that. The muscles in her shoulders, so used to carrying the weight of the world, going loose and slack for a moment. The dark skin exposed, sensitive and covered in sweat - she looks gorgeous, and not just because well, she is gorgeous, even if it took Coulson forever to be personally affected by that idea. She looks… happy. And even it that’s a fleeting look, it’s what looks best on Daisy. 

Her eyelids go heavy as she looks at him, she draws a deep breath, letting every part of her body relax, and her own first little snore wakes her.

“Sorry, I think I fell asleep for a moment,” she says, turning her body so they can look at each other, resting her head on Coulson’s leg, right above his ankle. He looks at her from the other end of the bed. She rubs her cheek against the layer of hair on his leg. Coulson smiles at her sheepishly, it’s in these moments when he is half-convinced this is not real, that he almost died and Fury made him go through the Tahiti protocol again, that these have to be fake memories, because how can this be real? She yawns, looking around from the corner of her eye. “Nice room you got us.”

He follows her gaze. The hotel is on the minimalistic side, but I guess that fits him. He knows Daisy is just happy to get a break wherever, even though she always fights, tooth and nail, against the idea of walking away from their jobs, even for a few hours.

“It’s okay,” he replies. “Nice job on the music.”

Daisy’s phone is still playing a playlist she made for the occasion. _With lost of stuff from when you were young, you know, when they had gramophones_ she teased him.

“Yeah, what was that song? You were making a face just now,” she says.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Like you were remembering… the song.”

He stretches out to grab Daisy’s feet.

“It was the song that was playing the first time I had sex with a girl - well, sex, a sixty-nine.”

“Oh?”

“It’s an old song.”

Daisy laughs softly, not to tease him, but genuinely pleased by this information. Coulson loves telling her stuff - though he prefers when _she_ tells him things, though Daisy is understandably reluctant to touch certain subjects in her past - but he tries not to blabber out of excitement about having someone he can talk to like this. And he talkative during sex with Daisy but _after_? After he has no filter. 

“Was it hot?” she asks. “Your sixty-nine. In my experience those things are just messy and not worth all the effort.”

Coulson smiles. He knows what she means.

“I was seventeen, I was an idiot. Of course it was hot.”

“You had sex for the first time at seventeen?”

“I had fooled around before, with - uh, people.”

“You mean _boys_?” Daisy guesses. He nods. “You thought you were going to shock me?”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t,” he confesses, making it sound like less of a deal than it is for him. It wasn’t a real fear, he knows Daisy’s heart, but it’s always a possibility. Plus he hasn’t talked about that in decades. He almost forgot all about that part of his life himself, which strikes him as quite sad.

“I should have told you about this Russian girl I dated once,” Daisy says. “We never actually met in person, but we did plenty of _shocking_ things via webcam.”

“I’m very shocked,” he tells her. He jokes, but it’s a bit of a relief, that they understand each other even in that.

He touches her ankle, mimicking her gestures. The skin is hot to the touch, her body still cooling down. She looks like after a particular heated session on the mats or against the punching bag. Coulson knows how powerful her body is, and not just the muscles acquired after years of training. It excites him to know its strength. He likes to taste her after she’s used it - after morning sparring, or a mission, Coulson likes to feel adrenaline and sweat and slack muscles under his mouth.

Suddenly Daisy starts, moving from her comfortable position.

“The champagne has probably gone warm, right?” She moves to reach down the bed. “I think I need to be a little drunker to try this.”

“Try what?”

“A sixty-nine of course,” she declares.

Of course.

“We don’t have to- Daisy, it’s okay. It _is_ a mess.”

She finds the bottle and takes a swing. She grimaces, pushing it away again. She sits up in bed and grabs her phone, gesturing for Coulson to get closer. He reluctantly obeys; he was happy there, with his head over the edge of the bed, doing nothing but looking at Daisy.

“What song was it?” she asks.

He points. “This one.”

“From 1978?”

“That record had been out for a few years before I…”

Daisy’s amused expression at his defensiveness. It’s not often that he has to justify his age. He knows Daisy doesn’t care. He knows he should care more, but he’s never been falsely modest. He knows his own attractive. It’s a bit messed up how shameless he is when he’s with her like this. It’s the other stuff that worries him - that he was supposed to be a mentor, or a family figure to Daisy, not this. The optics of it. The optics of him being SHIELD for a lifetime and the idea that this is the only reason he wanted her to success as an agent, the reason he fought so hard for her. No one would believe this never occurred to Coulson back then. And the fear that he might leave her alone too soon, which is irrational, because by the time they met he had already died once, and by the time they got involved men half Coulson’s age had already left her alone.

Daisy presses play.

“Okay, let’s go,” she says, taking charge, bossy as always.

She puts her hand on his chest and pushes him down, pressing him against the mattress. She looks gorgeously possessive, her gaze suddenly darker, and somewhere past him, as if imagining the act already.

“This is so juvenile,” Coulson laughs.

Daisy fixes her eyes on him with an almost serious look, like she’s drinking in the sight. Then she smiles.

“Hey, we’re still young, aren’t we?”

That makes him laugh harder.

“Well, some younger than others,” he corrects her.

She turns her body and places her knees on each side of Coulson’s head. The unusual angle confuses him for a moment. Whenever she’s ridden his face they’ve done it with her looking at him, him looking at her. He reaches his hands, running them over Daisy’s back for a moment, before setting them on her thighs, like he wants to anchor her body.

“I’m so glad you’re short,” she says, and she wraps her hand around his cock. She realizes and gives him a sympathetic look over her shoulder. “Not short. I mean not tall, I’m glad we are the same height. Trying to do this with Miles was impossible, it was so uncomfortable reaching for… you know.”

“No one has ever given me this compliment before,” Coulson tells her. He was always used to other men towering over him, more physically imposing, he knows he never had a SHIELD body, and it never bothered him.

The music fills the room for a moment. The punk chords, and feeling hot and completely into another person brings Coulson back, he can see the outline of his old bedroom in his mom’s house if he closes his eyes. Like many things Daisy has raised in him (no pun intended regarding their current situation) this is something Coulson never expected to feel again. Whatever embarrassment he experienced before is gone. He just feels aroused and dumb. He kisses the inside of Daisy’s thigh to get started. Her fingers caress his cock, hopelessly soft for now, but there’s a lot of fun one can get out of soft cocks, he knows, and it’s not like he expects this to be more than foreplay - he’s never come from a sixty-nine and he’s never made anyone come, it’s too uncomfortable. Eventually you want to see someone’s face, and you want to be able to, well, move a bit. 

Daisy has put the song on repeat.

He was right, it’s a mess. Too many things happening at the same time, he normally wants to focus on one sensation at the time. Everything about Daisy is overwhelming. Her body, her heart, Coulson feels like he’s surrounded. He digs his fingers into her thighs and lifts his head until he can push his tongue inside her. He tries to go slow, but it’s hard when she keeps moving, focused on her own end of the deal. His own nose seems suddenly in the way.

Daisy laughs with her lips around the tip of his cock and Coulson freezes from pleasure.

She is humming the song as she blows him.

So fucking juvenile, Coulson thinks, trying hard not to laugh himself and kill the mood for good.

So fucking perfect.


End file.
